Fabled Foreign Tongues
by fallenphangel
Summary: HS AU. Dean lives with his little brother Sam in a small apartment in Lawrence, Kansas, and is constantly dealing with the monster that is his own mind. But, when the new boy to his school comes into his life unexpectedly, will those monsters start fade away, or will they get worse?
1. Chapter 1

Sam woke up to the faint sounds of an older boy crying. He was used to hearing these sounds in the middle of the night by now. He decided to lift up his flannel bed sheet and walk two doors down to the slightly bigger room at the end of the hall. Quietly peeking in through the slight crack in the light brown, wooden door, he could see his older brother sitting on the edge of his bed in a way that seemed like he was sitting at the edge of a cliff, counting the seconds to find the perfect time to jump. Ever since their parents, John and Mary, died in a car crash three years ago, the now seventeen year old Dean lost the sparkle in his eyes. He and John used to do a lot of things together, for instance, go to ranges and test out different types of guns, shooting tackle dummies and targets.

"Good job, son! I'm so proud. I could _never_ make a shot like you can," John used to say when Dean would make a shot straight through the tackle dummy's eye.

Sam was always jealous of Dean's relationship with their parents. Even Mary seemed to treat him better. She would make Dean peanut butter and jelly sandwiches whenever he was feeling down, perfectly cutting the crust off, because that's how Dean liked it. White bread without the crust, creamy peanut butter on both sides, and finally, strawberry jelly in between, just enough to slightly seep out of the sides whenever he bit into it.

Remembering this, Sam walked down the hallway of their one floor apartment, opened the bread box, and pulled out the white Wonder bread he liked to make Dean's special sandwiches with. He opened the cabinet above the sink and grabbed a white paper plate, and put two slices of bread on it, starting to delicately spread the peanut butter onto both sides, reaching every corner of the bread. He then grabbed the half-full jar of jelly out of their stainless steel fridge and spread it onto one side of the slices of bread, on top of the peanut butter.

After putting the sticky halves together, and cutting the edges of light brown crust off, he poured a glass of ice cold, two percent milk into Dean's favorite AC/DC mug. This was the mug that Sam had bought him last Christmas with the money their Uncle Bobby gave him for his birthday. It was a black, circular mug with the band name written in chrome lettering, a lightning bolt right in between the middle letters: "C" and "D." He didn't really know who they were, but he knew for a fact it was one of his brother's favorite bands. How could he not know that, when Dean blasts songs through the house, singing and dancing along. His favorite songs, he came to realize, are "Highway to Hell" and "Hell's Bells." Sam never really knew why he liked songs talking about Hell, considering Dean used to have horrid nightmares about going to Hell; screaming weird Latin incantations in the middle of the night because they were torturing him, and he wanted it to go away.

Sam walked back down the narrow hallway to the end, slowly opening Dean's door.

"Dean? Are you okay? I made you a- Dean?"

He walked into the middle of the room, only light coming from the just rising Sun peeking through the shades on the window. He came up to his bed nervously, until he noticed Dean's eyes were closed. He just fell asleep. He put the sandwich on the black, wooden night table, and pulled a piece of paper and pen out of the compartment inside of it, wrote him a note, then went in his room and drifted back off to sleep.

When Dean heard his door close, and then another from down the hall, he finally reopened his eyes, as they adjusted to the brighter lighting. He knew his little brother saw him in his room earlier, and he really didn't feel like talking about it. His twelve year old brother would not understand what it's like to walk in his shoes. To feel like you're never good enough, like you're unwanted and alone, ugly on the inside and out. To feel like a monster. Or even worse, like there's a monster living inside of you, feeding off your insecurities and self-hatred. And, even with all these thoughts, to then have your parents, who were the only people to truly care about you in any way, just leave you like that. It makes him feel like if they'd truly cared about him and little nine year old Sam, they wouldn't have driven so carelessly. Now, along with the weight of this monster on the inside, he also has the weight of not only taking care of his younger brother, but maintaining his life, too. He had to work at Uncle Bobby's salvage yard after school every day, taking John's place there with fixing cars, building cars, anything along those lines. He even had to gamble in poker on Sundays, as well, to pay for food, while the money from his job paid for the bills and for clothes when they needed it, and a whole bunch of other things that was so hard for him to keep up with, Sam knowing about none of his struggling.

Dean rolled over in his bed and picked up the sandwich, noticing how well his brother had mastered the art of making these for him._How many times has he noticed me upset and had to make these for me that he's so perfect at it now?_

He took a bite, and then read the note that was carefully placed on top.

_Dean, I made you your favorite sandwich, but you were sleeping, and I didn't __want to wake you. So, when you wake up, if you need to talk, I'm here. Don't think that just because I'm your younger brother you can't tell me things or talk to me about anything. I won't judge you. Please don't forget that. Love, Sam._

The corner of Dean's mouth slowly rose into a slight simper as he read through the note. He stood up, wiped the single tear from his malachite eyes just before it fell down his cheek, and roamed to Sam's room. He opened the door slowly so the old thing wouldn't creak too loud and end with waking up Sam, and then walked to the side of his bed. Pulling out Sam's note and a pen, he scribbled something onto the back, and kissed his brother on the temple. Once he was done, he vamoosed back into his room.

_I'll never forget that, Sammy._

That was all Dean had written. That short little sentence that truly took him forever to think of, since his mind was preoccupied with the one thing he really couldn't tell Sam, no matter how guilty he felt, or how obvious it was. He wanted to just tell him and get it over with, but he's made up so many horrid scenarios in his head if how awful his brother could take this news, while completely forgetting that downhill isn't the only way life swings. Sometimes, gratifying things happen. If only he could bring himself to realize this, before it's too late.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sam, get up! We have twenty minutes before school starts, dammit!" Dean shouted from down the hall.

"I'm up; I'm up," Sam yelled back, "jeez."

Sam groggily got up out of bed, and stumbled to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He could hear Dean beeping the horn in his '67 Impala. You could tell that it was him beeping because he was mad or annoyed, rather than his "we're in danger hurry the fuck up" beep. His annoyed beep was longer lasting, while the beep when something was wrong was short, and there were a couple of them in a row. He almost gagged because of how much he knew Dean better than Dean did.

By the time Sam finally walked outside, it was already 7:23, and they had to be at school by 7:30.

"Don't even think about slamming Baby's door," said an already annoyed Dean, watching Sam's eyes roll around his head, as he obnoxiously, yet carefully, closed the door to the midnight black Impala, the door squeaking as it moved. Dean twisted the key into the ignition, listening to the sound he cherished hearing every morning: the engine roaring to life right between his fingers. Suddenly, cutting off the sound of the engine, a song that Sam clearly loathed blasted through the stereo, and Dean smirked at him.

"Asia? Really, dude?" Sam snickered. Dean just laughed back at him, and they continued listening to Dean's classical rock montage until they finally arrived at the school parking lot, and went their separate ways: Dean watching Sam cross the street to go to the middle school, and then him walking to the high school. He found it quite annoying to only step one foot outside the school, and hear all the screams from the 6th through 8th grade kids on the playground. Why didn't they get a playground? They weren't much older than the middle schoolers, and clearly deserved it more than they did.

Dean's mind, while walking into the school, was racing with thoughts like "Everyone is staring at you; they're all judging you as you walk by them," "nobody wants to be around you. They're all trying to walk away from you, can't you see?" and the classic, "why are you even here? You aren't going to actually get anywhere in life."

He walked down the endless hallway, feeling it closing in on him. Well, that is, until he spotted the new kid that he kept hearing people talk about, and it wasn't even first period yet. He was clearly tall, although he still wasn't as tall as Dean was. His bronze colored hair was probably up to about half an inch over his eyebrows, and was pushed to the left side, with some small pieces of hair precisely fallen over his forehead. His eyes were colored with cerulean crystals, which happened to be what Dean noticed first about him.

The strangely adorable new guy made a weird, confused face at him, and that was when Dean had realized he'd been staring right at him for quite a while.

Almost walking into a locker, Dean rubbed his arm, looking around at other people to make it seem like he was actually just looking for someone, and wasn't just staring at this random kid. He went to turn away to keep walking and take attention away from himself, but he saw a figure walking in his direction, which he was almost certain it was the new kid. His breathing started to quicken to many short, fast breaths, and just got faster and shorter as he continued to come closer.

"Hi, um, can you help me? I'm new, and I was wondering if you could tell me where, um," he pulled his schedule out of his agenda book, and looked back up at Dean. "Room, uh, 212?"

Dean tried to hold back a smile. He just looked like such a cute, lost puppy. Dean tried to figure out the right thing to say, mapping out the school and classrooms so he wouldn't tell him the wrong directions and look completely retarded, when he remembered exactly where that room was. It was global history, which was exactly where Dean was headed now.

_Fuck, I'll have to walk with this painfully adorable guy, who probably doesn't even like guys or even want a relationship right now since he just moved here or maybe he just got out of a relationship or doesn't even like relationships but shit, his voice was just so mesmerizing. Dean, relax. Just talk to him. You'll be fine. _

"Yeah, it's um, well I'm actually going there now. I can walk you there if you want," Dean managed to choke out.

_Seriously? What're we going to talk about on the way there? Should I even talk to him, or just not say anything? What if I say the wrong thing, and he ends up hating me? And what the hell even is his name?_

He didn't seem to notice Dean's nervous confliction with himself, since he started talking to Dean again.

"By the way, what's your name? Mine's Castiel."

_Yahtzee._

"Dean. I'm Dean."

_He has a cute name. Should I tell him that? Is that too weird?_

"I like your name. It's... Different."

Too late to take it back now, so he just started walking towards their classroom, hoping Castiel would completely avoid his comment.

Stumbling to catch up with Dean, who was walking unnecessarily fast, Castiel mumbled, "Is something wrong? It seems like you're nervous or upset. Did I miss something?"

Dean stopped walking and glared right into Castiel's cute, puppy dog eyes, not thinking about what he was about to say.

"No, I'm cool. Thanks though, Cas."

He could see the confusion suddenly wash over Castiel's face as it turned red, turning his head to the side ever so slightly.

"Oh, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to call you-"

"Don't worry about it. I kinda like it, having a nickname. It sounds cooler than 'Castiel,' anyway."

Relief made its way through Dean's body.

"You sure? 'Cause I can call you-"

Castiel cut him off again.

"Dean, really, it's alright. I like it. A lot, actually."

Cas smiled at Dean, and Dean's automatic reaction was to smile right back. He couldn't help it. Not knowing what to do next, Dean just turned, and Castiel followed suit. Once again, Dean was walking unnecessarily fast, but this time, it was because he'd just realized there was only about 40 seconds left for him to get each of them to global history class. Rushing down the hallway past the red and white sets of lockers, they finally reached their destination, and made their way inside. Mostly everyone was standing around their friends, having random conversations about football, makeup, and boys, Dean only being able to relate to one, but wouldn't be caught dead talking about it to anyone.

Looking back at his hopefully new friend, Dean said, "I guess just have a seat anywhere, since the teacher isn't even here yet. You can sit by me if you want to."

Dean sat in front of a slender, golden-haired girl.

"Hey, Jo, this is Castiel. He just moved here."

Jo's face lit up like a Christmas tree, a smile making its way up her face, forcing her bright, white teeth to peek out of her soft lips.

"Hi, Castiel, I'm Jo." Jo stuck out her hand, and Cas shook it, squeezing her hand nowhere near as tight as Jo was squeezing his. "Where ya from?" She propped her elbows onto the desk, her chin resting on her hand, as she watched Castiel take a seat in the desk next to Dean's.

"I'm from Idaho, surprisingly. It was so boring there. There was never anything to do, except everyone went to this lame fair once a year that didn't even have any cool rides."

Right as Jo was about to reply, a dark-skinned boy came up behind Dean, slapping him on the back of the head with quite a bit of force. Dean's head jerked forward, causing Dean to bite into his tongue. He closed his eyes tight for a second to endure the pain, before bringing his hand to his tongue, feeling it to see if it was bleeding. _Oh God, not now_, he thought to himself.

"What's wrong, Winchester? Too busy glaring at your new boyfriend that you didn't see me come up behind you?"

_Great, now Castiel's really not going to want to talk to me._

Dean just silently looked away from the boy, too nervous to say anything back to him. But, apparently, Jo wasn't.

"Oh, grow the fuck up, Uriel. Dean's never done anything to you, yet you keep harassing him like he's your little chew toy. Being an asshole doesn't make you look anything more than an arrogant, brutish, uncultured swine, and I'm done being nice back to you all the time."

Castiel just stared at Jo and Uriel, and Dean looked completely away from all three of them, pulling his sweatshirt sleeves over his hands and crossing his arms tightly, hoping if he pushes on the scars on his wrist hard enough, they'll open again and everyone and everything will just go away. Nervous Uriel or Castiel were going to see him awkwardly pushing onto his arm and say something about it, he stopped.

"Sorry you feel that way, beautiful, but your words have absolutely no affect on me. Plus, why can't the little faggot speak for himself?" Uriel snickered at them, and drifted back to his group of two friends, who were also laughing.

Dean pulled his hands out of his sleeve, and they tightened into a fist as he tried to hold back tears and completely avoid looking over at Cas.

"Don't you worry about him, sweetheart. He's just acting like that to make himself look a cut above everyone else so his friends will like him. You're so much better than he is, trust me," Jo reassured him, laying her warm hand on his fist. She could feel his fist loosen up under her grip, his chest rising and falling at a more normal pace again, which was perfect timing, because the teacher had just shuffled in, already ten minutes after the bell had rung for class to start.

With a strong English accent, he said, "Good morning, disciples, take your seats. Sorry I'm late, there was a ninety year old arse driving in front of me, and I swear I could see a bloody snail make its merry way past my car." He walked across the room, and sat at his small, mahogany desk that contained papers that were all completely formulated on top.

"That's the teacher, Crowley," Jo whispered over to Cas, "He told us to call him by his first name because he feels old when people call him Mister."

Cas smirked at Jo, not knowing if he should say anything back, seeing as Crowley already seemed to be in a bad mood.

Crowley was scrimpy in size, and looked like he hasn't shaved in about a week and a half. His hair was thin and not very long, its longest point being in the middle of his head. His wore a black, orderly suit with a black tie, with a very unnoticeable pattern on it, and a black shirt underneath. His suit coat reached all the way down to his knees, and we always wore it unbuttoned, and never took it off. The black slacks he was wearing fell onto to his shiny, black dress shoes in just the perfect way. Crowley's face was featured very distinctively, where every single wrinkle, laugh line, and every other crevice in his face was completely noticeable. It almost made it seem like he actually had emotions other than mad and annoyed.

"Ah, you must be the new kid," Crowley said, motioning towards the back of the classroom at Castiel, who just nodded his head back. "Castiel, right?" Cas nodded his head again. "Okay, Castiel, come grab one of these textbooks over here. We'll probably never actually use it, but the stupid boss-man says we have to give 'em out anyway, just in case. So, they're over there."

Cas stood up and made his way across the classroom, feeling everyone's eyes on him. He tried not to really make any awkward eye contact with anyone, but his eyes seemed to automatically drift to Uriel's. He was already staring him down when Castiel looked at him, and Uriel evilly winked at him. Nervously, Castiel looked away, grabbed a heavy, blue textbook, and went back to his seat, taking a red book card to fill out from Crowley on the way back.

Dean watched him walk back to his seat. He couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking about when he blankly stared at the wall, or randomly smiled when he was more focused on what was going on outside the glass windows next to his seat. It reminded Dean of when he drives with Sam, with the music softly playing in the speakers, and Sam would just watch the moving objects outside as they passed them in the Impala. Sam wouldn't say a word, and Dean wouldn't ever start a conversation and disturb his thinking. Sometimes, when the music was low enough or wasn't on at all, he could hear the steady beat of Sam's breathing, and would count the seconds before he took his next breath. He seemed so peaceful; so at one with the world. Dean never understood what he found so interesting out there, or how Sam knew the names of all the different types of trees. He would sometimes name all the types of trees they passed on the way to school, and inform Dean on their types of leaves and life spans.

_Damn, Cas and Sam would get along so well, _Dean thought to himself as he watched Castiel's eyes follow the bees that were flying around the garden that one of the school's clubs planted there, although Dean wasn't sure what the name of the club was. Watching Castiel made him feel peaceful, as well. It helped him forget about the throbbing pain he still felt in his tongue.

When the bell rang, Castiel got up and walked through the desks over to where Dean was standing.

"Bye, Jo, it was really nice meeting you," Castiel said through a smile.

"You too, Castiel. Who knows, maybe I'll see you later," Jo responded, pulling Castiel into an embrace. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat, and Jo let go of Cas.

"Bye, Dean," Cas said, through an even more charming smile than he used on Jo.

"Bye," Dean replied, wanting to say more, but completely faltered.

Jo stared into Cas' direction until he was out of the classroom, and then smiled exuberantly at Dean.

"Don't smile for so long, your face might freeze like that." _Oh, God, does she like Cas?_

"Oh, shut up," Jo said laughing, and lightly punched Dean's right arm. Dean laughed back, and they started walking to their next class.

"So.. He's cute, huh? You know, Castiel?" Jo asked, still grinning from ear to ear. Dean suddenly felt really hot and uncomfortable. This could mean two things. One, Jo already had some kind of crush on him, or two, she suspected that Dean did, which couldn't be possible, because as far as Dean knew, Jo was clueless about his sexuality. _Fuck._ Either way, nothing is going to go well, so, looking away from Jo, he replied,

"I mean, I guess." He didn't know what else to say, so he added, "well, I'll see you in lunch later; I've got to get to Algebra." Dean shuffled away before Jo could even respond to his maybe (possibly) gay comment.

"Okay, bye!" was all Jo could yell back, before he was gone. Maybe she won't talk about it in lunch. Oh, God, then Gabriel, Chuck, and Ash will know something's up, too_. Maybe I'll just go sit in the courtyard by myself for lunch today_, he suggested to himself. It's pretty cold, so nobody will want to go out there. He could think everything over on his own, or just listen to his iPod, and have the voice of James Hetfield let his mind drift away from Jo and Cas and his new swollen tongue.


End file.
